


Huldrekall

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Halloween 13, Charcoal Burner Greg, Don't Post To Another Site, Elf Eurus, Elf Mycroft, Huldrefolk, M/M, Norwegian Mythology & Folklore, Oral Sex, Scandinavian Folklore AU, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27200188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: The life of a charcoal burner is quiet and lonely, unless you happen to attract the attention of the Huldrefolk. In which case, life could get very dangerous, very fast.
Relationships: Eurus Holmes & Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74
Collections: A Halloween 13 2020





	Huldrekall

**Author's Note:**

> For myteapotthings on Tumblr who inspired this work. Please do take a look at her beautiful art.
> 
> https://myteapotthings.tumblr.com/post/633513663447334912/mycroft-and-greg-depicted-as-an-elf-and-a-troll
> 
> Many thanks to trillian_jdc for her late night beta work. <3

It was a lonely life, the life of a charcoal burner, full of hard work, sleepless nights, and the smell of smoke. Always the smoke.

Greg was apprenticed to the charcoal burner at a young age, after his father had died and his mother remarried. His stepfather was glad to see the boy go, so he could have Greg’s mother’s attention all to himself.

The charcoal burner was a fair man and not unkind. He fed Greg well and gave him shelter. In the fifth year of Greg’s apprenticeship, the man died, drowning in his own phlegm. It was left to his apprentice to pick up the trade. Greg worked the kiln and chopped the wood, mostly on his own. From time to time, the children and the elderly from the village would help with gathering the wood in exchange for a portion of the charcoal that would help keep them warm through the winter. Most days though, Greg was alone.

At least, he appeared to be alone. He had the sense someone, or something, was watching him. He’d occasionally catch a glimpse from the corner of his eye, a flash of red, or hear a rustle in the leaves. Probably a fox, he thought. He’d hear snatches of song on the wind as it blew through the trees. Songs that tugged at his heart and made his soul keen with loneliness. But mostly it was that uncanny feeling of eyes on his back, causing the hair to rise along the nape of his neck.

During the long nights watching the kiln, making sure the fires burned low and long to turn the wood to charcoal, he’d hear noises from the nearby forest. Sometimes the cries of an animal or a breaking branch. It would startle him, making him more alert, often just in time to prevent the fire from running amok and ruining the charcoal. In the morning there would be footprints around the kiln, and Greg knew they were not his own.

The Huldrefolk. The Hidden Folk. Greg had heard the tales, but never seen any of them, of course. He knew, spending so much time in the woods, that he’d be under their scrutiny, but never had he felt so observed as he did this season. Observed, yet unthreatened. So, he would bring beer from the tavern and his own stew, made with herbs and plants he’d gathered, to the edge of the forest. He’d find his bowls returned, cleaned and sometimes ingredients for his next offering—rare mushrooms, or fresh fish from the river. Once a bit of polished quartz, rose colored and perfectly oval, was waiting for him at the usual spot, when he arrived with his offering.

Greg was careful to express his appreciation vocally to the seemingly empty wood. Being courteous to the Huldrefolk was crucial, he’d been warned by his now long dead mentor. Other rules included never mentioning their tails or their hollow backs, even if you could see them. Be wary of gifts, as they could bind one unwittingly to the giver. The females were not only beautiful, but seductive. They loved to sing and their songs were known to lure men into the woods and often to their deaths, but if you could marry a huldre they made the best wives. Greg absorbed all he was told, though privately he didn’t see the attraction of having a wife.

* * *

Mycroft stood in the shadows at the edge of the forest, peering around the trees to watch Greg move about the kiln, stacking the wood and packing the dirt. It had been a warm autumn day, and he’d stripped off his shirt, showing his tanned back and strong muscles. Mycroft ached to stroke that smooth, soft, sun-blessed skin. So unlike his own back. All spring and summer, he’d kept vigil over this man with the dark hair and dark eyes. He helped keep the fires going in the kiln at night, chased away the larger beasts of the forest, and most particularly tried to keep his sister away. Now, in the gloaming, he wondered if he’d ever have enough courage to approach this beautiful human.

“Are you watching him _again_?”

Mycroft nearly jumped a foot as his sister, Eurus, sneered in his ear. He gritted his teeth and kept silent.

“Why don’t you find a pretty milkmaid and leave this one for me?” Eurus whispered, putting a little lilt in her words.

“Quiet,” Mycroft shushed her.

“This is it, isn’t it? The last batch of charcoal, then he’ll go into the village for the winter.”

Mycroft closed his eyes, and a small whimper escaped him. It was true. He’d lose sight of his beloved charcoal burner, and he’d have to wait until spring, when Greg moved back out to the woods. Who knows who he’d bring with him, an apprentice or, worse, a wife.

“Why don’t you let me take him?” Eurus’s voice took on a more musical quality. “I could bring him to the hill, and he could live with us forever. You could stare at him to your heart’s content,” she sang softly.

Mycroft whirled and slapped his hand over her mouth. “I said be quiet,” he hissed menacingly. He glanced back at Greg and saw the man had raised his head from his work and was looking in their direction, searching the wood. “He hears you.” Mycroft tried to keep the despair out of his voice.

Eurus scraped her sharp teeth against Mycroft’s palm. He withdrew his hand and sucked the gash she’d made. Eurus grinned wickedly. “Of course he does.” She started to hum and with a seductive wink she sauntered to the very edge of the wood.

Mycroft grabbed her cow’s tail. Snarling, Eurus turned on him, but he stood his ground. “A contest,” he gasped. He’d looked past her at Greg in the near distance. He’d gotten a torch and lit it, still gazing intently into the dark forest. Mycroft dropped his voice low. “Let him choose between us.”

Eurus considered, “I’ll win, of course.”

“Most likely,” Mycroft agreed. He was banking on her cruelty to at least let him try. She did so enjoy her prizes more if snatched from someone else.

“Fine.”

She again started to move toward the edge of the wood. But Mycroft had not let go of her tail. “I go first,” he said firmly.

She scowled. “It better be tonight.” Eurus gazed hungrily at Greg. “I can’t wait to eat him up.” She tugged her tail from Mycroft’s hand and, with a sniff, disappeared into the forest.

Mycroft watched her leave before turning back to see Greg scanning the forest, not seeing what he knew he heard. Mycroft took a deep breath. He smoothed his auburn curls as best he could and made sure his fox’s tail was tucked into his loose gray breeches. The neck of his blue shirt was open wide, revealing his smooth white skin. He stepped from the woods and into view.

* * *

No other noises were coming from the forest, and Greg went back to the kiln. He set his torch in the ground, then perched on his two-legged stool to watch the thin stream of smoke from the kiln. The night was starting to cool, and Greg pulled his shirt on. As the shirt cleared his eyes, he glimpsed a pale face in the glow of the torch. He stood, the stool clattering to the ground.

“Who’s there?” Greg called out. In answer a man stepped into the light. Greg held back a gasp. The man was tall, with long arms and legs. He had clear blue eyes like the winter sky on a sunny day. His soft features were in counterpoint to his long sharp nose. It gave him a regal appearance, in these humble surroundings.

“I’m Mycroft.” His voice was low and melodious. It made Greg shiver and his hair stand on end. “Would you like some company tonight?”

“I…” Greg searched for words to reply. “I have to…” He gestured helplessly at the smoking kiln. A pretty flush crept over his cheeks. Greg felt self conscious by how hoarse he sounded. It’d been so long since he’d spoken to another being.

“Yes, I know.” The blue eyes twinkled at him. “I thought it might be more pleasant if you had someone join you in your vigil. You’ve had to do this all season, alone. You must be exhausted.”

“How do you know I’ve been alone all season?”

Now a pink tinge rose into Mycroft’s cheeks. “I’ve observed,” he murmured.

“I don’t remember seeing you.”

“I watched you… from afar.” Mycroft bit his lower lip. “May I?” He nodded at the ground near Greg’s stool.

Greg shrugged and went back to his stool. Mycroft settled gracefully near Greg. He sat on one hip with his legs tucked together to one side. Mycroft smiled up at Greg. His hair glinted with reds and golds, like autumn leaves. Greg felt foolish sitting above this comely young man and abandoned his stool to sit on the hard earth next to Mycroft.

“Are you from the village?” Greg asked after a few moments of silence.”I’ve not seen you around.”

“No, my folk live in the woods. Deep in the woods.”

“Ah.” Greg was quiet and studied the smoke coming from the kiln. It began to drift in their direction. “Must’ve seen me chopping wood.”

“Yes.” Mycroft paused. “You are very good to the trees.” Greg looked at Mycroft quizzically. Mycroft cleared his throat. “I mean you choose wisely… which trees to fell.”

Mycroft’s gaze was mesmerizing, and Greg felt himself gravitating closer. A shoulder had become exposed as the wide neck of Mycroft’s loose shirt shifted. It was so clean. So white. Greg lifted his hand and, without thought, stroked Mycroft’s bare shoulder. He grimaced at how dirty his fingers were against the pure, pale skin.

Mycroft closed his eyes and inclined into the touch. “That feels lovely,” he murmured.

Emboldened, Greg caressed Mycroft’s shoulder with his whole hand. Mycroft hummed appreciatively and tilted his head, exposing his long, graceful neck. The humming filled Greg with want and confidence. The tune was familiar, but the words escaped him. He leaned over and placed a kiss on Mycroft’s shoulder, tasting the warm, salty skin. Hungry for more, he kissed and nibbled and licked his way up Mycroft’s neck and along his jawline.

Mycroft reclined back on his elbows, and Greg found himself covering that long, lean body with his own. Mycroft’s clothes seemed to have melted away, and Greg kissed his way down Mycroft’s lightly muscled chest. His tongue found two perfect pink nipples. Mycroft groaned, as Greg nipped at the firm buds.

The needy sounds filled Greg with joy. He was so proud to have made this exquisite creature under him cry out with such passion. His cock throbbed and ached with each soft sob of delight. “So beautiful,” Greg breathed as he made his way down Mycroft’s belly. His hands gripped restlessly at Mycroft’s hips. The scent of pine filled his nose as Greg nuzzled Mycroft’s long, hard cock. The new scents, and the sounds of Mycroft’s desperate cries, nearly overwhelmed Greg. He licked stripes up the shaft and swirled tenderly around the glans as he reached between his own legs to push down his trousers and fist his eager prick.

Mycroft parted his legs to give Greg room to tend to his weeping cock. Months of waiting and wanting were now coming to an end. Each touch of Greg’s tongue sent Mycroft in a frantic spiral of desire, the moment of satisfaction just out of reach. The feel of Greg’s mouth on his cock was ten times better than what his vivid imagination had provided. “Please… please…” Mycroft begged. “Take me. Take all of me.”

Greg took a breath and swallowed down Mycroft’s prick. An exultant cry ripped from Mycroft’s throat and he arched towards the heavens. His hands dug into the hard dirt beneath him like it was soft butter, anchoring him as wave after wave of indescribable pleasure coursed through his body. He lay breathless and enraptured. His mind was empty of all thought, but one.

Hot cum dripped from Greg’s lips as he reared back and striped Mycroft’s shuddering form. His hand pumped frantically, wringing out every drop of his ardor. Spent, he collapsed on top of Mycroft. Long arms wrapped around him, stroking the length of his back.

“Mine,” Mycroft whispered hoarsely, finally able to voice his one thought. “All mine.”

Mycroft’s words sank deep into Greg’s bones. They settled there perfectly at home. It felt so right. “Yours,” Greg returned fuzzily before fading out of consciousness.

Greg came awake with his head pillowed in Mycroft’s lap. They were clean and dressed. Greg had no idea how that came to be. Last he knew, they were mostly naked and covered in the aftermath of their pleasure. Long fingers carded through his hair. “Gregory, time to wake up.” It was the sweetest music hearing his name come from Mycroft’s lips. He smiled up at the gorgeous face hovering over his.

Mycroft smiled down at his precious human. “You need to wake up, dearest.”

Greg sat up. “Is the kiln okay? Did the fire get too hot?” He rubbed his eyes and studied the smoke.

“It’s fine. I kept watch,” Mycroft reassured him. “I need to go. My family…”

“Of course.” Greg stood and helped Mycroft up. The man was taller than Greg, and he had to look up to see Mycroft’s jewel bright eyes. Mycroft took Greg’s hands and kissed them.

“Will you be back?” Greg asked hopeful, yet fearful.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied. He looked intently at Greg. “If you’ll have me.”

Greg cupped Mycroft’s cheek and reached up to kiss Mycroft’s lips, gently exploring with his tongue as Mycroft allowed the kiss to deepen. “I’ll have you anytime,” Greg promised.

“We’ll see,” Mycroft said somberly. He stepped back. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” Greg watched him, waiting for him to leave. Mycroft stood awkwardly not moving.“Is there something else, Mycroft?” Greg asked.

“Do you have that bit of polished quartz I gave you?” Mycroft asked.

Greg nodded. “The rose quartz? That was you?” Mycroft nodded. “Yes. It’s in my shelter.” He nodded at the rough structure situated some distance from the kiln.

“You should get it and keep it on you.” Mycroft spoke urgently.

“I will.” Greg promised.

“No, now.”

“Will you wait while I get it?”

“Of course,” Mycroft lied.

Greg headed to the shelter, glancing back to see that Mycroft waited. Once there, he found the smooth, milky pink-white rock. Greg hurried out of the shelter. “I have it. Mycroft?” Greg looked around, not seeing the young man. His gaze fell on the kiln. “Shit!” Smoke was pouring from the mound. Greg shoved the rock in his pocket and got to work.

* * *

That night Greg waited. He watched the kiln absently and jumped at every sound. The moon was high in the sky when he heard the sound of someone singing. Soft and low, the song was sweet and instantly brought Mycroft to mind. Greg smiled and stood. He headed towards the source of the singing.

A fair young love I chose for my own

To comfort me, and me alone,

To comfort me, and me alone,

And lie beside me when day was done.

“Mycroft!” Greg called. He stopped to see a young woman wearing a long gown. She was tall and willowy, with long silvery blonde hair, and singing at the edge of the torch light. She smiled knowingly and beckoned him. Her blue-gray eyes locked on his dark brown ones. Greg approached slowly, unsure, but intrigued. She had that same ethereal beauty Mycroft had.

My young love broke her promises,

She stole my hopes of happiness.

I stand alone, deceived and wronged,

Mourning a treasure that is gone.

Her voice seemed to wrap itself around his neck and lead him to her like a dog on a leash.

Each morning early, when I rise,

The tears begin to fill my eyes.

I walk the woods the whole day long

And listen to the small birds' song. 1

“Who are you?” Greg asked as the song ended and he stood in front of the charming maid.

“I’m Eurus,” she replied reaching out to trail her fingers along Greg’s jaw.

“Where is Mycroft?” Greg was sure she knew. He tried to peer around her into the inky woods beyond.

Eurus cast her gaze downward and took Greg’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry. He’s not coming.” She looked up, eyes wide and sorrowful. “He sent me to say, he won’t be coming back.”

“He promised,” Greg whispered, betrayed.

“He’s always breaking promises,” Eurus commiserated. She brought his hand to her lips and nibbled on his fingers.

“Ow!” A sharp tooth had nicked the pad of one of his fingers. Greg pulled his hand away. Eurus licked her lips.

Greg looked at her suspiciously. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

Eurus moved closer, pressing her body against his. Her hands skimmed up his arms to wrap around his shoulders.

Greg tried to push her away, but her embrace was too strong. Her scent had a coppery tang, like blood. Now frightened, Greg began to struggle. He brought his hands up to clutch at her back. And found nothing. He’d expected to find fabric and her flesh, but instead he felt only air and the scratch of bark at his wrists. “Huldre!” He cried.

Eurus threw her head back and laughed. “Well, I may not be able to seduce you, but I can still eat you.”

Greg screamed in terror. The huldre bent her head to his chest, tearing his shirt and licking the skin above his heart.

“ ** _GREGORY!_** ” Mycroft’s voice thundered through the wood.

Eurus paused. “You can’t stop me, Mycroft,” she called. “He’s mine now.”

Greg twisted and struggled to break free. Mycroft’s presence gave him new strength and will.

Mycroft appeared out of the blackness. “ ** _COME TO ME_**.”

Greg, fueled by adrenaline and something more primal, flung off Eurus and rushed to Mycroft’s side. Mycroft wrapped an arm around Greg’s shoulders and pulled him close. Greg wound his arms around Mycroft’s waist and buried his face in Mycroft’s chest. He sobbed with relief.

Eurus glared at Mycroft and Greg, furious. “What did you give him?” She demanded. “What did he give you?” She screeched at Greg.

Greg looked up at Mycroft, questioning. Mycroft nodded. “You may show her.”

Greg loosened one of his arms and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the rose quartz gemstone and showed it in the palm of his hand.

“You bastard. You cheating, lying bastard,” Eurus spat.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Mummy would not like to hear you talk so.”

Eurus rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She threw up her hands. “He’s yours.” She started to walk past them into the forest, but stopped. She looked at Mycroft with an angry gleam in her eyes. “See that you don’t mislay him. Or I’ll have him for lunch.” She gnashed her teeth in Greg’s face, making him flinch.

They both watched her storm off. Greg could see the hollow in her back and the cow’s tail trailing behind, He held back a shudder.

Mycroft relaxed his hold on Greg and Greg tilted his head to look up at Mycroft. Mycroft shrugged. “Sisters,” he muttered.

Greg nodded like he understood, but really he didn’t. “She’s huldre.”

“Yes.”

“That means you’re…”

“Huldrekall.”

Greg nodded again, his heart pounding. “Are… are you going to…”

“Eat you? No, my dearest. I want only to spend all of my days with you.” Mycroft paused. “If you’ll have me.”

“Of course,” Greg agreed shakily.

Mycroft smiled and his blue eyes lit up brighter than the stars. The expression of pure joy on Mycroft’s face soothed Greg’s jangled nerves. He inclined his head and kissed Greg softly. All thoughts of Eurus receded, and Greg was left feeling dizzy with desire.

They strolled arm and arm back to the kiln. Together they built a home at the edge of the forest. Eurus was never invited over for lunch. Greg never mentioned Mycroft’s tail or the hollow in his back. Mycroft never stopped having a reason to sing. They lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken a few liberties here as the huldrekall are usually described as being hideous with exceptionally long noses, and the huldre are extraordinarily beautiful. However, I did find a few references to some of the males of the Huldrefolk being nubile and comely, so I went with that. ;) 
> 
> They're quite capricious beings. The Huldrefolk are fascinated by humans. They like to help humans, but mostly they like luring humans into the woods to have their wicked way with them. If the human provides satisfaction, they often let them live, but forever bound to the elf. If the human doesn't satisfy the huldre or huldrekall, well, it's lunch time. 
> 
> 1\. "A fair young love" (Swedish Folksong)


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